She glances around. “Back door by the bathrooms to the alley. Front door. Window if we really want to make a statement. The kitchen’s probably a maze. And there’s a fire exit in the back right corner. You can see the sign through the doorway.”
“Good,” I say.
“I hate that this is a pop quiz,” she mutters.
“Welcome to my head,” I say.
Karla brings the donuts and coffee over a minute later. Twiggy’s shoulders loosen a fraction as soon as the plate hits the table. Sugar therapy.
“So,” Twiggy says after her first bite, powdered sugar dusting her upper lip. “Let’s set expectations.”
“About?” I ask.
“You watching me,” she says. “How much you watch. Where you watch. What you do when you’re not glowering in my living room and judging my snack choices.”
“I don’t glower,” I say. “That’s just my face.”
“It’s a very intense face,” she says. “Especially for a guy who allegedly likes donuts.”
She licks sugar off her thumb. My brain notes the gesture before I can tell it not to.
“Expectations,” I say, forcing myself back on track. “Okay. You sleep at your place. I sleep at mine.”
“Good start,” she says.
“I’ll be in or near your building when you’re home,” I continue. “In your apartment if Jack or I deem there’s an immediate threat. Outside if it’s quiet. I’ll have a room down the block by tonight.”
“Don’t you have, like…” She waves her hands. “Other crime to do? People to kneecap? This can’t be your whole docket.”
“It is for now,” I say.
“That seems like a waste of your skillset,” she says.
“Keeping you alive is my skillset,” I say. “Every other job is just practice.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. She looks away, out the window, where frost still clings to the cars at the curb.
“You talk like you’ve done this a lot,” she says.
“Job like mine?” I shrug. “Some version of this, yeah.”
“You ever screw it up?” she asks. The question is casual. The way she grips her coffee cup isn’t.
I consider lying.
“Yes,” I say.
She looks back at me. Really looks. “They die?”
“Yeah.”
“How long ago?”
“Long enough that I should be over it,” I say. “And not long enough that I am.”
She nods slowly, like that makes sense in the equation she’s building.
“Okay,” she says.
